A mass of white caps on a disheveled sea crisscrosses the horizon, the aftermath of a hurricane that skidded up the western face of Baja from Cabo past Punta Hughes. The storm made a westerly turn on its northern trajectory, just far enough off the coast to send a small amount of rain and mountainous surf to our small pueblo. Wave after wave, a tight fetch. a disorganized army of marching swell lines with little space between them, and out the far points, close-out walls of water.

Six weeks before the wedding

At forty-eight, I was an older bride, but the Blazy U Ranch was a newer wedding venue, nestled in a valley framed by the Colorado Rockies.

Deb and Jen ran the place, so I met with them to review my to-dos and due dates. While scanning my planning spreadsheet, Deb laughed.

Every week she asked me how I felt and every week, while, in general things were “fine,” I always told her there was almost always a day, or a couple of hours a day, where despondence grabbed me and wouldn’t let go. It was as if someone, something, was wrestling me and trying to get me to give in, to tap out. We were in different weight classes though. I was the lightweight and the despondence was the heavyweight and I didn’t have any agility or tricks up my sleeve to counteract the weight disparity between us. 

Genesis. Humpty Dumpty. Harry Potter. The tale begins with a rupture: the exile from Eden, the irreparable fracture, the lightning-shaped scar. A jagged seam from which the story spills. 

I almost titled this letter “Dear Man-child” or “Dear Boy with the Napoleon Complex…” but, like most people, I realize it’s hard to convince people to listen to my point of view if I start out by insulting them.